Double Cure
by Coneflower Adams
Summary: Belle is not the only one who needs a new start in Middlesbrough.
1. Chapter 1

**Double Cure**

_Writer's note: Thanks to bad faery and thestraggletag for inspiring me to write Macelle! All credit for Father McAvoy's first name goes to bad faery, because I couldn't imagine him with any other name except the one she gave him!_

* * *

Middlesbrough seemed like a peaceful town. Belle needed some peace. From the beginning of the ogre wars, her life had been a whirlwind of sadness and joy. The man she loved – her unlikely true love – the powerful Dark One who deep inside was still just the small, trembling man trying to find his son, was gone now. Here in this world magic was different and like everyone else he could not escape death.

Belle couldn't stay in Storybrooke. The town line had been removed years before. She had seen parts of the country, but her and her husband always returned after their searches, unsuccessful and heartbroken. No place on the North American continent felt far enough, so she tried Europe. That's how she ended up in the quiet town of Middlesbrough.

A month had passed since she arrived with a car full of keepsakes and necessities. An old but nice bed and breakfast was home for now. She wasn't in a hurry to find a job when she arrived; she had enough to keep her going. After the weeks of taking it easy and exploring, Belle passed a bookshop with a "help wanted" sign in the window. The local library had no positions open, but a bookshop was the next best thing.

Belle strolled out the bookshop wearing a smile and a bounce in her step that hadn't been there in nearly a year. Maybe Middlesbrough would work out for her; maybe she could finally find a place she belonged again. She was only working part time (2-7 five days a week), but it was something to do, something to contribute to the new place she was trying to make home.

It was an overcast day two weeks after she begin her new job. A light snow fall had melted earlier, creating slush on the streets. There weren't many people milling around due to the weather, but there was one man that seemed to catch Belle's attention from afar. His head hung low and shoulders slumped. She thought he was walking that way because of the damp coldness in the air, but as he drew closer, she could feel the distraught radiating from his whole being.

The man missed a crack in the concrete. He fell forward, catching his hand on the sidewalk, and tumbling into a muddy puddle standing against the curb. Belle gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, as she watched the poor man take the horrible tumble. She rushed to his side instantly.

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, concerned, grasping his forearm.

The man nodded vaguely, face shrouded by the fringe of his brown hair. Belle pulled him to his feet, steadying him as he swayed. One side of his black jacket and pants were soaking wet and stained with sloshy mud, but the bloody gash on the heel of his left hand caught her attention.

"You're hurt!" she said, rummaging through her bag for a tissue to wipe the blood away.

"Please don't trouble yourself, Miss. "

He flinched when she took his hand gently in hers. He sounded as if he did not wish to bother her.

"It's no matter," Belle contended, dabbing the blood away. She hadn't glanced up yet, hadn't seen his downtrodden face. The poor thing was so flustered by the fall his hand was shaking. "You really need to have this gash cleaned. Your jacket and pants are soaked. You could catch a cold easily. My rooming is only a block away. I can get you cleaned up and bandaged in no time."

"No, really, Miss," his voice was near pleading, but he hadn't pulled away from her hold. "You need not worry about me."

"I insist." Belle finally looked up, smiling encouragingly. The eyes that met her gaze made her gasp in shock. The man standing before her was a spitting image of her late husband.


	2. Chapter 2

He _needed_ a drink.

Father MacAvoy locked the church's front door, praying no one would come for confessional or assistants for the rest of the evening. He wouldn't be able to help anyone who came around today. He barely could turn the key in the lock, his hands shaking from the craving for alcohol. He needed to settle the craving quickly before it became unbearable.

The weather was a complete mess. Snow had fallen and melted all in one day, and the air was damp with a blistering wind. He didn't bother to slug on a coat, his need to find a bar more important than keeping his body warm. Once the alcohol hit his system, he wouldn't feel the cold.

He strode down the sidewalk, hands tucked in his pants pockets, head down. His eyes were fixed on the concrete, though he wasn't watching it. His mind was screaming and the constant nagging made it hard to concentrate on anything else.

He was nearing the bar, only a couple blocks away, when the toe of his shoe caught a crack in the sidewalk. His mind was so far away that his reaction was slow to come, and Father MacAvoy found his knee connecting painfully with the rough concrete and his left hand skidding out from under him as he tried to catch himself. He toppled over onto the street, landing in a puddle of melted, muddy snow. He nearly swore out loud as he regained his bearings, but was cut off by a gentle female voice.

The woman asked if he was all right as she helped him ungracefully get back to his feet. He kept his head down, ashamed that he would let his cravings cloud even the smallest of tasks like simply walking. His black jacket and pants were soaked on his left side, the chilling wind already making his side uncomfortably frigid.

"You're hurt!" the woman exclaimed, and Father MacAvoy glanced at his left hand to find a bloody gash that he hadn't realized was there. The woman insisted on cleaning the horrible cut, but he didn't want her to bother with him. All she was doing was wasting her time. He was a drunk, the need to fill his system with alcohol was what made him trip in the first place. No one should waste there precious time on someone wretched like him, especially such a kind person as this young woman seemed to be.

She had grabbed his hand, even after he protested for her not to bother with him, and he flinched at her touch. He'd rarely had any kind of physical contact for several years. He was a priest, and though there was other clergyman in his religion that was open to physical contact with their parishioners, he was not one anymore. Who would want to touch a man whose hands shook from an addiction?

But this kind woman was holding his hand and cleaning his wound and smiling encouragingly. Now she was offering to help him get bandaged and dry and all together worried for his wellbeing. All Father MacAvoy could do was stand there helpless and politely plead for her to leave him be. She insisted again, finally meeting his eyes.

He wasn't surprised when widened eyes stared back at him in alarm. He looked haggard, unkempt, the addiction painted in bleeding red letters over his forehead. He knew he would scare her off at some point during this brief exchange. It was for the better, he told himself as those deep blue eyes pierced his in utter shock.

"Thank you, Miss, for your kindness. God bless you," he murmured, pulling his hand from her grasp. He was about to make a wide berth around her when she caught his sleeve.

"You're still hurt" she stated, and he looked up to meet her gaze again. Her eyes had softened her smile small and a bit sad. "Please, let me help you."

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes at those words. He'd never heard someone have such pure concern for him. His bottom lip trembled and he lowered his head, letting brown fringe shield his face so not to let her see the emotion that was threatening to pour out from his being.

"Like I said, my rooming is only a block away. Not far at all. You can get warmed up and your hand bandaged and I'll even put on a kettle of tea."

Father MacAvoy balled his fists in his pants pockets, trying desperately for the shaking to stop. He needed a drink, but he wanted to take this concerned woman up on her generous offer. She would probably hate him after finding out what he really was, but for now her kind smile was like rays of the sun shining on him and he knew he had to go with her, even if she did scorn him later for the drunk he was.

He raised his head, finally grabbing hold of his emotions and nodded. "A kettle of tea sounds nice, Miss."

"Then let's get you that tea, and a coat-" she rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "You must be freezing without one."

Father MacAvoy shrugged, knowing sadly the truth that he didn't care enough for his wellbeing to even protect himself from the cold. "I forgot mine when leaving out."

"I'm Belle," she said as they began walking in the direction of her room and board. "I hope you don't mind me invading your personal space. You're so cold, you're shivering."

He looked bewildered, wondering what she meant by invading his space, when she slipped an arm around his and drew close to his side. Father MacAvoy stiffened at the touch, not sure how to act. Then he realized she had introduced herself. He should do the same. "Father Joseph MacAvoy."

The woman, Belle she said her name was and what a lovely name he vaguely thought through the haze in his mind, was smiling still and trying to keep him warm. He realized how miraculous a distraction she had been in the pass few minutes. He'd completely forgotten about needing a drink.


	3. Chapter 3

_Writer's note: I'm so glad this chapter is done. It seriously kicked my butt for over a week._

* * *

Her face must have looked as pale as a white sheet as she stared into the eerily familiar brown eyes. They were the eyes of her late husband's and yet inlaid in a stranger. Belle was frozen in place, electric shocks pulsing through her mind as she tried desperately to make sense of this. They were from another world, and maybe there were people of this world that shared the same appearance. She'd barely come to that conclusion when the man pulled his hand from hers and thanked her before starting off.

She suddenly remembered he was hurt and needed tending to, and Belle was more than obliged to do so – whether he resembled her late husband or not. The offering of help seemed to upset the poor man, she could tell by the way he hung his head, hiding his face behind his long strains of shaggy hair. Something was amiss with this man, not just his pride bruised from losing a fight with a crack in the concrete.

He finally met her gaze again when she offered him a kettle of tea, which seemed to warm his presence if only in the slightest. She noticed he wore no coat. Why would a person come out in the blistering cold without protection? Surely the black jacket he wore could not provide the warmth he needed against the elements. Another reason to bring him to her modest little flat, there was a coat hanging in the closet she could loan him.

For now, he needed something to keep him from catching a horrible chill, especially with his left side being soaked. Belle wasn't one for invading a stranger's personal space. But this man so far seemed harmless and it helped that he looked familiar, although Belle did not want to admit to herself that was one of the reasons she felt comfortable to cuddle up to him. He stiffened as if a cat bristling when frightened as she wrapped an arm around his.

"Father Joseph MacAvoy" he said his name was, and Belle turned a smile toward him as he glanced sidelong at her, disbelief still shadowing his features.

"Are you Catholic or Anglican?" Belle asked, curious of the collar he wore. She had read many books about the religions of this world. In the old world, there had only been a handful of beliefs. In this new world, there were hundreds or even thousands maybe and they were all fascinatingly different. She had read the Holy Bible from front to back, and knew of many denominations that believed upon it. It was all rather confusing when she tried to sort through all of them, and ultimately gave up. She did remember some of them though.

His eyes reverted back to the sidewalk. "Catholic" he answered then asked hopeful, "Are you?"

"Sorry, no." A piece of Belle's heart broke at the disappointment outlined on his profile. "But I have read the Holy Bible from cover to cover. It's very fascinating."

His face brightened if only tad bit. "I'm glad to hear you've read the Bible. There is much you can learn from its pages." Father MacAvoy's breathed in deep and sighed, dejected. "I have not read the Bible as I should have the last few years. I fear I've wandered off the path set before me."

The hairs on the back of Belle's neck rose. Now his heavy-heartedness she felt coming from him made sense. She wondered what happened to lead him off the path he spoke of, but that was not a conversation to have out on the public sidewalk in the cutting chilled air. She was thankful to see the two-story building of her present residence just up head.

"There's my rooming," she pointed out with an outstretched finger. "Let's get you warmed up and we can talk some more inside."

Father MacAvoy nodded, seeming relieved for the subject change. The building had been an old bed and breakfast that had been converted into flats. There were two upstairs and three downstairs, all with a kitchenette and cramped bathroom in each. The rooming was fully furnished, which Belle was most grateful for. She had enough furniture to stock a mansion, but all of it had been left in Storybrooke and the pink house that her and her husband had shared was left to Ruby Lucas to take care of.

They climbed the stairway, Belle's arm still about Father MacAvoy's. She didn't have the heart to let him go the whole walk and he wasn't protesting against her touch. She did have to finally let go as they made it to the door, Belle digging through her bag for the key.

Belle stepped over the threshold, flashing a small, encouraging smile over her shoulder. Father MacAvoy looked downright terrified as he hesitantly followed her inside. "This is my home, at least for now. The bathroom is right over there. I'll bring you something to change in to." Belle didn't realize how strange that must have sounded to him until after she bent down beside the bed to retrieve a narrow plastic tot from underneath. Father MacAvoy hadn't questioned her, only obeying as he disappeared into the tiny bathroom.

"Father?" Belle knocked quietly. "I have a change of trousers for you."

The door opened a crack, and his hand slipped out as he muttered a polite thank you. A few minutes later, he emerged and Belle gasped inwardly. It hadn't occurred to her the affect it would have on her to see this man - this doppleganger - in her husband's old clothing. Father MacAvoy only wore the suit's trousers, his black undershirt not sustaining any muddy damage, but it was enough to make Belle gape.

Father MacAvoy seemed to notice her shock and bowed his head in a manner that she was quickly associating with him. She hurried to his side, replacing her startlement with good cheer. "Oh good, the trousers fit." She knew they would, but she wasn't going to let him know.

"Who did these belong to?" Father MacAvoy asked, letting Belle led him to the square little kitchen sink where she had laid out the first aid kit.

Belle hid her face with long chestnut locks, biting her bottom lip. She gestured for his hand and said almost inaudibly, "My late husband."

* * *

The kindhearted woman, Belle, was offering her care and Joseph truly didn't know how to act. All he could do was follow her lead. Whatever Belle told him to do, he would obey. People came to him for guidance, for their needs, and Joseph yearned to give whatever was needed. But he had been lost for so long now; he was the last person on earth that should be delivering guidance to others.

He waited in the bathroom for the change of clothing Belle had promised. The black trousers she slipped through the crack in the doorway were expensive in taste and just his size, if only a tad loose around the waist. He'd barely eaten real food in what seemed like weeks or even months, he couldn't remember anymore. The days went by in a blur of daily duty at the church and evenings spent out of his mind with strong drink.

His hands shook still as he pulled the crisp trousers on. His urge to drink had subsided to a degree, but even with Belle as a distraction, it would not go away entirely. He couldn't let her know about his addiction. Her kindness meant too much to him and he would not ruin that just yet.

Belle's eyes widened as he met her gaze exiting the bathroom, and Joseph lowered his head, ashamed that she had finally realized what a horrible mess he was. In an instant, the sun started shining again and Belle beckoned him to the sink to care for the gash.

"Who did these belong to?" he asked, wondering about the trousers.

"My late husband."

He regretted the question as soon as Belle answered. Her face was mostly hidden behind her long locks, but he could recognize despair. "I'm sorry for your lose."

Belle smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you. I figured the trousers would fit. You look about his size." She busied herself cleaning dried blood and sterilizing the gash. Joseph tried with all his strength to keep his hand still.

She was remarkably gentle as she cleaned and applied a bandage to the gash, her touch warming his whole body. He hadn't realized how much he had missed any physical human contact until now. All too soon, she was finished, the contact gone and Joseph missed her touch the moment it left his skin.

"Please, sit" Belle instructed, gesturing to the tiny kitchenette table. "The tea should be done soon. In the meantime, we can talk."

Joseph nodded, closest to the sink where they had just occupied. His mind was a muddle, but he managed to find a question to ask her. "How long have you been in Middlesbrough?"

"About 6 weeks." Belle answered. "Ever since my husband died, I've wandered around trying to find a new place to start over." Joseph could tell she was trying to sound optimistic. "It's been a challenge."

"If you need any help with finding your way around-" he offered, hoping that maybe he'd have another opportunity to be in her presence given that she wouldn't be attending church services.

"I've explored a great deal since I arrived." He worried the disappointment that stabbed at him was visible on his face. It must have been, because Belle added quickly, "But it would be lovely to have someone tell me about the places I've seen around town."

"I know Middlesbrough well," he said, and flinched inwardly at how lame he sounded. The poor woman was probably feeling fifteen shades of pity for him by now.

Thankfully, the kettle whistled and Belle busied herself with pouring the tea, setting a mug down before him. Joseph wrapped his uninjured hand around the toasty mug, bringing it to his lips. He chanced a glance through the stream escaping the mug to find Belle's gaze upon him.

"Your hand is still shaking."

Joseph hurried to swallow the hot liquid, regretting it the moment it burned his throat. He choked down a cough, trying desperately to hide the mishap. "I'm fine. The cold throws my nerves a bit." He knew she wouldn't believe the false explanation and waited for her to press the issue.

Belle leaned into the table, blue eyes gazing at him in such honest concern, her hand laying inches from his that held the mug of tea. "Are you all right, Father? You mentioned earlier that you've wandered off the path set before you." She sat back against the chair, sighing in frustration. "I apologize for being so nosy. We just met. I shouldn't be in your business."

"It's okay, Belle" he replied quietly, wishing to share every heartache and failure he'd had. But no, he wouldn't trouble her with all the shameful details. "I fear I've lost my way as a priest. I'm responsible for so many people, so many souls who look to me for guidance and help, but I'm only one man. I can't do it all. How can I help others when I can't even get myself back in order?"

"Do you have any friends you can talk to? Anyone who'd come assist you if you need help?"

He'd never asked for help from anyone. He was the leader of his flock, how could he ask any of them for help? The one he could go to was God, but it seemed lately He wasn't even coming to his aid. Joseph lowered his head and closed his eyes, all the guilt and failure weighting on his whole body. "I have no one."

He flinched when Belle's hand rest upon his wrist, so tender. A warm smile greeted. "I'll be your friend. Man was not meant to go through life alone. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask."

Joseph lowered his head again, this time to hide the tears that were threatening to fall, and he lifted a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the kindhearted woman offering to be his friend. "Thank you, Belle" he mustered through the lump in his throat.

It seemed Belle knew exactly what he needed, and she smiled brightly and chatted with him about all the places she had been so far in Middlesbrough. Joseph knew the friendly chatter was only a distraction from the mountain they had just climbed, but was grateful for it. He finished up the mug of tea, setting it beside the sink.

"I must go. It's getting late. I better go change."

"But you're trousers are still soaked," Belle interceded as she placed her own mug by the sink.

"I'll be fine-"

"No, you will not" she interrupted, pointing a finger at him. Joseph didn't dare argue with her. "I'll get your trousers back to you tomorrow, dry and clean. Until then, you keep those and also borrow the coat I promised you." She kneeled down beside the bed again, revealing a heavy woolen, black coat from the plastic tot.

Belle held it out to him, Joseph hesitating to take it. It felt eerily strange to wear a dead man's clothing, but the clothing must have belonged to an amazingly blessed man who had been placed with such honor to be Belle's husband.

"Thank you for everything" he said, letting Belle help him push his wounded hand through the coat sleeve. "I can't thank you enough."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Father."

Joseph took a deep breath as he heard the door close. Before this evening, he didn't think he needed anyone, but Belle had proven him wrong. He needed a friend. He needed her warmth and gentle care. He needed her.

As he walked out the building, he headed toward the church. His body was screaming for something to drink. He had to stay away. He had to fight the cravings that conspired to devour him. He had to be a better person again.

It was going to be a long, painful night.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was long.

Joseph trudged back to the rectory that evening determined to not drink himself into oblivion. Belle had given her word to return his soiled trousers and retrieve the clothes she trustingly let him borrow. He knew not when she would walk into the church or show up at his front door and shine her kindness upon him once again. He had to stay sober for that reason. To answer the door looking like a truck had hit him or reek like a sewer was not how he wanted Belle to find him.

He showered as soon as he stepped through the front door, stripping off every article of clothing and discarding them on the armchair in his bedroom. The shaking had not ceased and it took a bit of effort and lots of calming breathes to steady himself as he turned the bath knobs on. Cautious not to wet the bandage Belle so carefully wrapped his left hand with, he let the steaming hot water run down his lean body, turning his pale skin bright red until it began to sting. The burning water helped take his mind off the cravings, but he couldn't stay in the shower all night and did not need first degree burns if he stayed any longer in the scorching stream of water.

After dressing in a t-shirt and flannel pajamas pants, he sat on the edge of his bed gripping the worn brown leather cover of his Bible. A pang of sorrow and guilt rapped through him. He couldn't remember the last time he read the scriptures and barely gave a second thought to his priestly duties anymore, just going through the motions from years of routine.

Flipping to a random page, Joseph began to read the Word, "_For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; Yet God, with undeserved kindness, declares that we are righteous. He did this through Christ Jesus when He freed us from the penalty for our sins_."

Tears pricked his eyes and Joseph closed his Bible. _Righteous_. He had been declared righteous by God, but every fiber of his being did not feel righteous at all. He felt disgusting and ashamed and not worthy of being cleansed by God's saving grace.

"Heavenly Father," he began to pray, tears sliding down his cheeks, the burning need to lose himself completely overwhelming. "I know You have saved me from my iniquities and I know nothing I do can take Your love away, but I do not deserve Your grace or Your love. I feel I've fallen so far, I'll never be able to come back again. Please, Father, please…"

Joseph slid to the floor, leaning heavily on the bed. He clutched his hands together, not caring if it hurt, and sobbed and pleaded incoherently. He knew not how long he stayed that way before his stomach curdled and he rushed to the bathroom, spilling the meager contents of his stomach.

The night went on roughly in that manner, pleading by his bedside and being sick at the toilet. Joseph's knees were ready to bleed by the time weak beams of sunlight crept through his bedroom window. Exhaustion racked through his body and he felt too weak to move, but Joseph pushed himself off the floor and stumbled into the shower again to wash away the stench of sweat and vomit.

He stared into the mirror after the steaming hot shower. Even without drinking, he still looked like a truck had hit him, but at least he didn't smell like a sewer. A couple days of growth covered his face and he attempted to shave, but barely kept the razor from nicking the skin under his chin and he gave up, hoping Belle wouldn't notice his shoddy shaving job on his throat.

Joseph checked the mirror once more after dressing. He appeared presentable, an immense improvement from the day before. He had to look together for Belle. She wished to be his friend. She was the only light that had shone on him since darkness had consumed his life. He needed Belle's friendship like he needed air to breathe.

He felt he couldn't handle any breakfast, but downed a couple slices of buttered bread before his stomach had time to protest and made it to the confession box for morning confession. Only a small handful of parishioners showed and he planned to vacate the box soon to start his other duties for the day when the church door opened. He waited for the parishioner to come his way, but the footfalls were slow, hesitant.

"Father MacAvoy?" a voice called out.

Joseph's breath caught in his throat. Belle had come just as she said she would! He mouthed a quick prayer, crossed himself, and climbed out the confession box. "Mrs. Belle" he greeted in a choked voice.

"Hello, Father!" Belle replied, and Joseph felt warmth growing inside him when she smiled. "How is your hand?"

"It's fine" he answered weakly, holding his bandaged hand up to reassure her.

"I'm glad to hear that" Belle replied then glanced at the confession box he had emerged from. "Is this a bad time? Because if you're busy-"

"No!" Joseph said a little too quickly and loudly, and his face flushed at the outburst. He cleared his throat, trying to seem calmer. "I'm not busy at all."

"I have your trousers." She presented the black pants to him, folded and crisp to the touch. "I washed and ironed them, so they're ready to wear."

Joseph accepted them. "Thank you." He caressed the fabric with his thumb and never felt more grateful to a person in his life. He realized he had completely forgotten the borrowed clothing after stripping to take a shower and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. "I'm sorry I didn't clean the clothing you let me borrow" he said, miserably.

Belle reached out and grasped his hand, her features sympathetic. He knew his face probably screamed pathetic. "It's all right, Father. I wasn't too sure if I wanted them cleaned anyway."

"Oh." It hit him. The clothing was her late husband's and maybe she would rather them preserved, but it raised the question in his mind as to why Belle let him borrow the clothing if she wished to preserve them?

"Will you give me a tour of the church?" Belle asked, and Joseph was thankful for the change of subject. "I've never been inside a church before."

He gaped at her. "Never in your whole life?"

Belle shook her head, looking rather sheepish. "I was raised in a place that didn't have churches, and when I was finally away from there, the opportunity never arose until now."

What kind of place did Belle grow up in to not have any kind of church? Joseph couldn't imagine a place such as that, but he remembered that there were parts of the world where no one had even heard the name of God, so it was understandable. "I'd be happy to show you your first church, Mrs. Belle."

As Joseph walked Belle around the inside of the church, he explained the purpose for all the sections such as the pulpit and the confession box. He realized he was smiling, if only a small one, as Belle asked questions and he answered with more enthusiasm than he felt he could muster. They made it to the rectory a half an hour later, and Joseph suddenly felt the red creeping back on his face as he remember the disorderly state his apartment was in.

Belle didn't seem fazed by the mess. "Please don't take offense, Father, but does anyone dust the church?" Her gaze met the carpeted floor of his modest living room, and he could tell she was embarrassed. "I used to be a caretaker, so I notice things like dust and dirt faster than others might."

Joseph nodded, quickly reassuring her. "No offense at all, Mrs. Belle. I'm afraid the lady who used to upkeep the church died a few months back and I have not been able to keep it up myself."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Belle's blue eyes brightened. "Would you mind if I come a day or two weekly to clean in the mornings? I'm not sure if that would be all right since I'm not Catholic, but I'd be more than happy to clean."

"I see no problem with that," Joseph answered, a flutter of joy rising in his chest. "But I can only pay you very little."

"Don't worry about paying me."

"But-"

Belle laid a hand on his shoulder, silencing Joseph's protest. "I'm volunteering, and besides, I have enough money to support myself."

Joseph had met generous people in the past, he knew they existed, but Belle seemed to go far and beyond anyone he'd ever met. She truly could not be real, but here she stood – very real and tangible. "That is very kind of you, Mrs. Belle" he thanked, feeling the corners of his eyes dampening.

"I think both of us are in need of a friend. We could keep each other company on the days I'm here. Maybe we could even go out for coffee once a week."

As Belle waved her good-bye, the borrowed clothes hanging over her arm, Joseph's mind soared. She wished to spend time with him. She needed his friendship as much as he needed hers. All the while, he had forgotten once again his cravings for alcohol. He knew then that Belle's friendship was what he had prayed for, the answered he had waited for so long to receive.

Joseph dropped to his knees at his closed front door and prayed, "Thank You, Heavenly Father, for answering my prayers for help. Please bless Mrs. Belle, and I pray to be a good friend to her. Thank You, Father. Thank You, Father."


End file.
